The Bride Of Betelgeuse
by MyNameIsM
Summary: Rigel Deetz is having a little trouble with the living. BJ back and he's doing what he does best, but this time he needs a little something in return for his good deeds. Couple of One-Shots.
1. The Bride Of Betelgeuse

The Bride Of Betelgeuse

Rigel Deetz didn't know much, for she wasn't exactly blessed with sharp intellect, but she did know this: her family were weird. But, she had to admit that she wouldn't of had it any other way – ever since she could remember, there had been ghosts around her and basically, she couldn't imagine life without Barbara and Adam Maitland. Rigel viewed them as a spare set of parents, ready and reserved just for her when her mother, Lydia, was unavailable.

Rigel and her brother had never met their father – the disgusting little low-life had slipped into the shadows and left town long before they had entered the world.

Well, good riddance to _that_ scum bag. Life was just peachy without him, thank you very much...

Actually, no; the world of Deetz didn't exactly have a complete rose-tint : there was a bane to her existence, just one – but, hell, was it one big thorn in her side.

Rigel had a twin brother. His name was Aldebaran and he was the personification of chaos, evil and spitefulness. None could vex her like he, none could hurt her so, none could find so many ways to make her cry so violently.

When they were five, he'd pushed her into the river when they were playing so she'd nearly drowned; at seven years of age, he'd stamped her new pet hamster to death right in front of her eyes; at ten he'd pushed her down the stairs so she'd broken her leg and then blamed the mishap on the cat ..... and the list goes on.

There had always been a malicious gleam in his black eyes, there had always been a bestial smile on his thin, pale lips and she had _always_ hated him. Always despised her own flesh and blood, her own brother.

But how could Rigel love the devil? How could she show compassion to a tyrant who seemed to derive pleasure from her pain? Twins have always been reputed to have a connection; a secret understanding – no such thing existed between. Only fear and loathing existed.

Something had to give.

And that something was Aldebaran – he had to leave, and soon. After sixteen years of living with a real demon, Rigel had finally snapped.

But how to do it? Although she hated to admit it, she had to acknowledge that Aldebaran seemed to have her share of intellect added to his own. There was no way of getting past him – he saw through all her tricks, he side-stepped all her traps and when she aimed to scare him, she was always the one that ended up lying spread-eagled on the floor, heart-fluttering nervously in her chest like a trapped bird.

There was no way to get past him. Well, it certainly seemed that way.

Yet the answer came to her in the school corridor, of all places. On the way to her locker, something had drawn her eyes to the whitewashed wall and a very large poster. But not just a simple school-themed poster, but an advertisement. A man wearing a pin-striped suit was giving her a leering, mad grin under a large headline: "_Troubled by the living? You need a bio-exorcist! Call Betelgeuse for __help. Betelgeuse! Betelgeuse! Betelgeuse! Remember – three time's the charm!_"

Rigel paused and blinked in surprise – and just like that the image vanished so she was left staring at the plain white brick wall. She couldn't help but wonder whether she was going crazy. It was possible that Aldebaran had damaged her brain when he had hit her over the head with that baseball bat the other day.

So, she brushed it off and tried to continue with her barely perfect life. But that mysterious 'Betelgeuse' wasn't having any of that.

The second incident happened little over a week later. The family, ghosts and all, were gathered in watching some program about the stars – it was Aldebaran's choice, and he said the stars inspired his gothic poetry, or something. The constellation of Orion. The red-giant star Betelgeuse was mentioned and just like that, the images on the screen started to distort.

Rigel glanced nervously around, yet no one else gave any sign of noticing anything unusual; if anything they looked ... frozen. On the screen, the pin-pointed stars rearranged themselves and twisted into the man with the determined, if creepy, smile. Then, running under him words moved like a news bulletin: _"Troubled by the living? You need a bio-exorcist! Call Betelgeuse for help. Betelgeuse! Betelgeuse! Betelgeuse! Remember – three time's the charm!"_

Rigel blinked bemused, then shook her head violently to get rid of the image.

"Hey, honey, are you alright?" Her mother was giving her a calm yet anxious look. Although Rigel hadn't realised it, her head shaking had gotten so violent that it had started to resemble a fit.

The freaked out teen had turned her dark eyes back to the television, which showed nothing more incredible than the constellation. "Uhh... yeah, I'm fine." She replied, slowly. "I think I might go to bed, if that's okay."

She'd pretty much run up the stairs and buried herself under the bed-covers, clothes still on, to try and quickly sleep of the image. She really was going crazy.

The next morning was her Grandfather Charles' birthday. So, she decided to go and visit him to pay her respects: he had died of a stress-related heart attack five years ago. But it seemed that his ghost had returned to New York, for he never returned to the Maitland's house. Delia had followed him. Or maybe she had just wanted to get back to her home city – she never really had completely embraced Winter Rivers.

It was a beautiful summer day, the sun shone so bright that it hurt her eyes, but it's warmth was pleasant and the smell of freshly-cut grass blowing on the breeze really lifted her spirits. Despite that, she couldn't quite get the Betelgeuse incidents off of her mind. She was almost detracted by it, more than once walking blindly into the road, and nearly turning the corner of the street before realizing that she'd completely neglected to stop in the stop and buy flowers for her grandfather's grave.

What exactly was a bio-exorcist? What did they do exactly?

_Troubled by the living? You need a bio-exorcist! Call Betelgeuse for help. Betelgeuse! Betelgeuse! Betelgeuse! Remember – three time's the charm!_

'Troubled by the living?' Yes, she certainly was. Aldebaran needed to go, maybe this Betelgeuse fellow could help her achieve her goal.

She soon found herself in the town graveyard. That place had always freaked her out – her brother simply loved it, but she was his complete opposite – in looks, no but in style indeed. Her pale, pastel pink dress fluttered lightly in the breeze as her eyes scanned her surroundings. The gravestones jutted awkwardly out of the ground, the older ones leaning at precarious angles toward the dry, dead grass. Despite the warm weather, a cold shutter ran it's way through Rigel.

Everything was dead here. Even the trees.

Although Rigel knew it was only in her imagination, she always felt as though the dead in their graves were listening jealously to her movements above. Not everyone turned into ghosts, obviously, or in every house she entered she would see them. But she didn't; so where did the others go? Were they trapped six feet underground? Where they hammering on their coffin lids; were they scratching at the wood, peeling in under their fingernails; were they screaming to be let out, screaming until their throats bled?

Poor souls.

She was sure there was something about it in the Handbook for the Recently Deceased, but Rigel could never bring herself to read that thing. It read like stereo instructions.

Feeling a little unpleasant tingle run up her spine, Rigel moved on to her grandfather's grave. She lay her red roses on the grassy bank of earth that marked where he lay. It was a simple little stone, with a small and simple inscription on it; just like all the other graves in the graveyard. Well, bar one.

Looking up, her dark eyes danced over something she'd never seen before. The tombstone that lay directly behind her grandfather's wasn't small and humble like the clusters that surrounded it – it was a hulking great thing, inscribed with bright red foot-tall letters: _HERE LIES BETELGEUSE._

The strange advertisements came back to her in an instant. He was real. She wasn't going crazy. And her thoughts turned back to her newly spun plan: her tyrant of a brother was troubling her a great deal, and he was very much alive. She frowned, considering her choices for a second – but then her mind flashed back to her dear hamster Nibbles and she made up her mind. She needed a bio-exorcist.

Yet, another difficult question poised itself before her: how?

At that moment, her sparkling dark eyes fell on the gravedigger's spade lent up against the monumental tombstone. How had she not noticed that before? Then, slowly due to her less-than-sharp wits, it occurred to her; to ask for his help, Rigel was going to have to dig him up.

"Oh no."

She checked over her shoulder. No, she surely couldn't – someone would catch her. How awful would that be, people would think that she was a grave robber or something. Something Aldebaran would absolutely love – he'd never let her live it down, he'd spread a million rumours to make sure it was never forgotten.

Aldebaran. Her blood heated angrily. Aldebaran.

She marched forwards and grabbed the spade defiantly. It was heavier than she imagined it would be. Her arms ached just when she held it up. But she wanted to get rid of Aldebaran for good, didn't she?

Hell, yes.

She stabbed the spade clumsily into the earth and began to dig. No one disturbed her; that was the great thing about living in a small town like Winter Rivers, when you wanted to be alone, you were generally left that way.

It took her absolutely hours to get six feet down, and by the time she heard the metal scrape the wood surface of a coffin, her delicate hands were covered in blisters, her hair and dress were clotted with earth and the sun was setting, drenching the gloomy scene with orange. She threw the spade aside and cleaned the lid of loose earth with her sore hands. Then a another difficult problem confronted her.

How in hell was she supposed to open the casket?

A little bronze inscription glinted softly in the faded sunlight. Rigel had to bend closer to read it.

_Betelgeuse! Betelgeuse! Betelgeuse! (Remember – the third time's the charm!) _

Rigel stared blankly for a moment. Then she cleared her throat.

"Betelgeuse!"

Wait, no – she was saying it wrong. How had the guy of that show pronounced it? Oh right, yeah...

"Beetlejuice?"

The earth beneath her tremored slightly. Rigel found her throat had suddenly grown very dry. She swallowed loudly.

"Beetlejuice!"

The coffin began to shake. A little frightened now, Rigel hoisted herself out of the jaggedly dug grave. She shook off the childish fear – what the hell was she scared about? She'd lived with ghost since the day she was born? Why should he be any different?

"Beetlejuice!"

The coffin lid popped right off the coffin hinges with a loud bang. Rigel couldn't stop herself from shrieking as it landed beside her. Then out he rose, like a hurricane – the scent of decay, tobacco and alcohol rushing past her. She coughed as the smell caught in her throat; she pressed her eyes closed – tears streamed out from under her lids as she choked.

Then it was silent. The graveyard was still.

"Hey babe."

Rigel screamed at his sudden appearance. He laughed and laughed, as if scaring her was the pinnacle of all possible hilarity. He was bandy-legged, with rotten teeth and a leering smile; he wore the same black and white pinstriped suit as in his advertisement.

Rigel scrambled to her feet, attempting to brush some of the dirt off of her dress. Her legs were shaking awfully, like they'd just been turned to jelly. "Are you Beet-"

His suddenly clamped his putrid-smelling hand over her mouth. "Nuh-uh, babe. There's no need to use the B word. But yeah, I'm the Ghost with the Most." He let her go. She spluttered for air. "So- what's the job? Haunting proving a headache? A happy new couple ruining your afterlife?"

"No, it's not that. It's just..." She trailed off. As much as she wanted Aldebaran gone, suddenly this didn't seem such a good idea.

"So c'mon, give me something to work with here." Betelgeuse said impatiently. "Why did you summon me? And a live 'un too. I'm just burning up with curiosity here kid."

Rigel swallowed. "It's my brother." She managed to say at last. "I kind of want him to be exorcised. Or something..." She trailed off.

He gave a wild laugh. "Not even dead and the living are giving you trouble! But, sure I can do that. BUT, I need you to do something for me in return. See, I hate being dead and all, it's creepy. So you need to marry me – hey it's not my rules; I don't have any rules."

He spoke so fast, that it took for a moment for what he said to sink in. "Marry _you_?" She repeated slowly. "Seriously?"

He nodded frantically. "So we have a deal?" He stretched out a hand to shake.

Rigel frowned. "No offence, but I can't see any attraction in being married to a dead guy."

Betelgeuse raised one finger, a grand gesture for silence. "Aha, but I won't be dead for long. I;ll be living again afterwards."

"Oh." Rigel considered this for a moment, weighing up the pluses and negatives. On one hand, she'd be married to a crazy guy, but on the other hand she'd be rid of Aldebaran forever. Hmm. Crazy brother, or crazy husband? "Okay then." She was way too gullible.

He did an odd sort of squeal-snort-cough thing that Rigel took to be an expression of joy. He was still holding out his hand, so she felt obligated to shake – afterwards she wished she hadn't, his hand was ice cold, but surprisingly slimy with sweat.

Still grasping her hand, he pulled her closer with a leering smile. "It's show time."

---

The household was almost still, with her mother out working the night-shift and the Maitlands retreated to their attic. Almost still, save the constant banging drone of Aldebaran's heavy-metal music. Even from down in the landing you could quite clearly hear the screaming lead singer – Lydia gave no objection to her son's vile music taste, but it wound down Rigel's fragile nerves.

Betelgeuse made a disgusting noise as he cleared the flem from his throat. "That him?"

She nodded once, stomach knotting with a toxic mixture of excitement and fear. She thought she was going to throw up.

He gave her a flash of that awful smile. "Won't be a minute babe."

She blinked and he was gone. She distantly hear her brother say :Who the hell are you?" in his usual charming way. Then .... she didn't know what happened – there was a lot of banging, it almost sounded like they were rolling around up there; she heard a few items smash (that would be his framed band posters) and the music suddenly ended as the stereo fell from his desk on to the bare wood floor. She perceived she heard a muffled scream. Then silence.

Rigel closed her eyes – he was gone. And the silence seemed to last forever, pressing against her ear-drums with it's lonely sound.

Then there was a firm grip on her arm. "Shall we?" Rigel looked up in surprise, there stood Betelgeuse in some vile red and yellow suit: obviously his finest clothes. In confusion she suddenly felt her dress grow longer ..... into a bridal gown of a violent shade of red.

She swallowed. "Okay?"

Without moving her legs, she had the sensation of moving forward, her large black eyes were fixed on the old stone fireplace; it was distorting and growing longer, like a doorway. A bright green light issued from within, blinding her for a moment. A small shadowed creature waddled forward from within, it's small limbs struggling to carry it's weight. It was with incredulity that Rigel observed her wedding minister: it was a small, withered creature with puckered, browning skin; it's head was twice the size of it's body and bare sockets stared out where the eyes should have been.

Rigel swallowed back the bitter taste that was building in her throat.

The ..... preacher thing spoke in a low, gravelly voice. "Do you, Betel..."

But Betelgeuse cut him across. "Ah ah ah, no. No one says the B word. Remember?" He was jigging impatiently on the spot, his arm still linked with Rigel's. He was making her shoulder ache.

The preacher continued. "Do you __________ take this woman to be your wedded wife? To honor..." But Betelgeuse cut across him again. "You betcha!"

"And... you? Do you, Rigel, take this man? ... er, uh... man... to be your lawful wedded husband?

... In sickness..." She, being a polite girl, let the man finish the vows before giving her answer of : "I suppose so." Getting cold feet was too soft of a term to give at this point, her feet were practically falling off with frostbite, but a deal was a deal.

"Then, by the authority vested in me by..."

"Come on, c'mon, get on with it." Betelgeuse was practically jumping on the spot now.

"The ring?" The preacher turned his eye-less gaze on Betelgeuse, who drew a simple silver ring from his pocket, blew the lint off of it and pushed it quickly, and not a little roughly on Rigel's finger.

"I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Betelgeuse grabbed her and pressed his cold, foul-tasting lips to hers.

And then she died. Her heart just stopped, just like that, and her body fell away from her, hitting the ground with a dull thud. The couple turned and looked at the corpse that now lay spread-eagled on the floor in a bemused silence for quite a long time.

Finally: "I'm dead."

"Well, yeah, I guess I forgot to mention that could happen. I mean it works both way – I could joined the living or you could of joined the dead. Seems it turned out for the worst though, huh?"

She turned to him, more angry than upset. "You forgot to mention it? You _forgot to mention it?!_" She repeated, her calm voice suddenly turning to a bellow.

Betelgeuse turned to the preacher with a smile. "Women, huh? Not even married five minutes and she's already nagging me." He snorted.

"I died. You killed me. And just because you forgot to mention it? I can't believe you! I just....uhhh!" Finding no other words that could possibly vent her anger further, the livid bride Rigel turned to beating her new husband with her bouquet of dead flowers.

-

_Yeah, this is just a little something that came to me this morning. I watched Beetle Juice for the first time yesterday and I just had to write something for it – it has to be one of my new favourite films now. _

_Sorry if BJ seemed a little out of character at all, I'm still a little new to this fandom. _

_I don't expect many people will read this, but if you do, reviews are much appreciated. _


	2. Aldebaran's Return

**I wrote this, not really as a squeal, but as an explanation of what happened to the household after Rigel married Betelgeuse and Aldebaran was 'bio-exorcised'. I felt the original story lacked that extra little something, due to writers block and the fact I just wanted to get it out there. I never really planned to make this a multi-chapter, it's just I had such fun writing it, I just wanted to add a bit more. And thank you to all the people who took their time to read and review. I can't express my eternal love in words.**

Aldebaran's Return

It was silent in the house, a phenomena in itself; Lydia hung back in the doorway, oddly, stupidly unnerved – normally she was greeted with the rhythmic banging of heavy music and the loud screech of the television, shouting to be heard over the noise, or the argumentative tones of her teenage twins. But not silence. Never silence. It hadn't been properly silent in that house since .... well, it had never been even close to quiet, ever. When she was a child, she had had the constant drone of Delia, or her 'creative' music, to deal with, then the delightful sound of babies crying in unison was added to that in time. After Delia left to return to New York, she had had the constant noise of Aldebaran and Rigel invading her delicate ear drums.

Sighing, she slammed the heavy front door close, blocking out the chilly night air; it was surprisingly cold for a summer-night, with a heavy bowl of black, rain-filled clouds looming above, blocking the moon and making the darkness complete. "I'm home!" She called, throwing her keys onto the old wooden dresser in the hallway. She received no answer.

"Hello? You guys?"

Nothing.

The house was dark, save one light, it streamed down from the landing up stairs, just about illuminating the hall. "Aldebaran, are you up there?" Used to her son's childish antics, Lydia half expected him to jump out at her, wearing that old Halloween mask he was so fond of putting under Rigel's bed. He knew full well that his sister was afraid of zombies, but the sadistic boy seemed to delight in the screams of horror and surprise she always admitted when her fingers brushed over the cold prosthetic skin as she searched blindly for a book.

Yes, he was fiendishly cruel to his sister, and a little to fond of practical jokes; he'd be jumping from a dark corner at any second, donning that stupid little mask...... any second now.

The smile faltered on Lydia's lips. "Aldebaran?" Her heels clicked loudly on the bare wood stairs, echoing ominously through the house and reminding Lydia of the 'tension scenes' so often played and replayed in horror films – she could almost hear the frantic violin playing in her head.

The door was wide open. Still expecting, still hoping, that he was playing some sort of well-rehearsed joke, she entered.

The room was in ruin. Glass spiked the floor, shattered shards from his proudly framed band-posters littered the place; the mattress was pulled from his old iron-work bed, the bedding was shredded and the pillows leaked feathers onto the black-carpeted floor. His hulking great stereo lay smashed on the floor and the desk it had rested upon had been turned over.

Her throat contracted and dried.

She ran to the attic. "Adam?! Barbara?!" She tripped a little on the stairs, grazing her exposed lower leg, but she dragged herself frantically to her feet, bursting through the attic door with unnecessary force. Dismayed, she scanned the dusty, cramped room. Empty, save the lovingly-crafted model of White River Adam had spent a good part of his mortal life making. The Maitlands were no-where to be seen.

Damn it! She'd forgotten they had an appointment with Juno today! They could be gone for a while yet, time in the Netherworld passed more slowly.....

Lydia, still in frantic-mother mode, clattered loudly down the stairs, flicking on the lights as she did so – the darkness was adding unnecessary fear to her already brimming cup.

Then she paused in hallway, heart fluttering as fast as an animal's in her chest; she'd caught sight of something deadly white laying by the fireplace. The thing had long, curling black hair, so a-like her own and was clad in a heavily netted red bridal gown. The thing was laying silent and ominously still. It had it's head turned away from Lydia, facing the blue-striped wallpaper.

Lydia walked, but trepidation made her legs like lead and every step felt like a marathon; she dreaded what she would see, she _knew_ what she'd see when she turned it's head, but an awful sense of black-curiosity willed her forward.

_Maybe this was part of the joke? Ha ha, very funny, you got me you guys; you had me scared then.... Guys? No kidding, knock it off! _

The first fat drop of heavy rain hit the window pain.

The room held a smell she recognised and hoped beyond hope she would never smell again – a toxic mixture of dust, mould and alcohol. It was unmistakable, but she still didn't want to believe.

Lydia knelt and the side of the body, breathless – then slowly reached out a hand. She flinched away, the waxy cheek was alarmingly cold. She swallowed, tears already clouding her dark eyes; and then she tried again, this time grasping at the soft dark curls.

And then black, dark eyes were staring up into her eyes and she knew this wasn't a joke any more. She was holding her dead daughter in her hands.

It took Lydia a little while to remember to scream.

--

Three weeks later and everything had been sorted out; she'd gone through the motions numbly, but how could she have done it differently? Her sixteen year old daughter was dead, if she'd continued to feel anything she would have labelled herself a monster.

It was without feeling that she, flagged by Barbara and Adam, had read the results of the autopsy: _cause of death unknown_. That little statement had summed up everything she had already known; Lydia had turned to the medical world in the hope they could shed some light on the dark situation, yet they had cut open her baby just to tell her something she had already known in more detail. Apparently, Rigel's heart had just stopped, they had no idea why or how this had come about, it was a 'medical mystery' and 'things like that happened sometimes'. That was that.

Aldebaran was reported as a missing person; for months they heard nothing – Lydia split her time between the graveyard and the telephone, waiting by both, hoping for answers.

One day, it came.

They had found Aldebaran staggering about the marshy highlands of Scotland, he was disorientated, confused, hungry and dirty, but alive. Lydia had cried with joy, thanking the officer down the phone a million times; she had lived with nothing for so long, now she had _something_ back, it seemed like the small town police man had pulled a miracle.

Her baby was a different boy, she could tell from the second he stepped off that plane. His shoulders were hunched, like he was trying to go into himself, and his head hung – the confident Aldebaran, it seemed, had died that night, along with his sister. The mischievous gleam in his dark eyes had dimmed down to nothing and the boyish smirk that had consistently painted his face from childhood had transformed into a hard line.

He was quiet now, he no longer spoke his rude and crude jokes, his infamous stories had stopped on his lips; he sat silently in the back-seat of the car on the drive home, his knees drawn up on his chest with his head resting upon them. Lydia may have gotten her son back, but he wasn't the son she had remembered.

At home he had stood awkwardly in the hallway, looking around with scared eyes like a lost child. He did indeed look like a boy, his features were strong, but his eyes were wide and innocent – it was almost painful to look at him. He looked so much like his sister when she called his name, but it wasn't a repulsive thing, it was endearing – Rigel had been a pretty girl, Aldebaran was a beautiful boy with pale skin, warm brown eyes and black hair.

He was quiet now. He spoke only when necessary – the first thing he had said to his mother since his return was to voice his refusal to return to his room. "I won't sleep there. I can't." His voice was low, almost a whisper, and when he said anything, he spoke to his chest so his voice was muffled.

Apart from sleeping and eating, Aldebaran spent his days sat in the Living room on the old leather sofa, solemnly watching the spot on the floor by the fireplace. Sometimes he drew, but he often ended up shutting his sketch pad with disgust.

Despite her efforts, her questions and her hugs, to his mother he said next nothing.

--

Lydia couldn't help herself. It was just laying there on his bed, inviting her to look. She knew she was safe, he never came upstairs in the day, he didn't like to. She was safe.

So she dived in his unnaturally tidy room, perching herself on the end of his bed she snatched up the sketch-pad hungrily. For months her inquisitiveness had been positively eating her up inside – she knew it was wrong, but she felt drawn to her sons book, he seemed to seek solace in this thing, this was his outlet – maybe this held the answers she so desperately craved.

It was a simple thing with a cream cover. Inside, on the flyleaf, thee bore a little inscription scrawled in an untrained hand: _To loser, Mom wanted me to get something for your birthday and this was the cheapest thing I could find; Aldebaran._

The first few pages were filled with Rigel's watercolours – a river, a hill, their house, all childishly done, but done carefully; all the colour was behind the heavy pencil lines. Rigel had even signed every single painting at the bottom. Lydia smiled sadly – how could she have forgotten her daughters' 'artist' stage, which had been keenly encouraged by her Grandmother Delia. Aldebaran had gotten his sister a little sketchpad for her sixth birthday and she had become obsessed with it for quite a while. But then, as sure as day becomes night, Rigel had moved on and had made ballet-dancing her new dream.

This book had lain unused for over ten years; Aldebaran must have unearthed it from his sister how deserted room. How sweet. He had loved her deep down, despite all the horrible things he'd done, he'd loved her – even the Deetz's couldn't get away from the legendary twin connection.

Lydia, after dwelling on the watercolours a while longer, flipped on to her sons artwork. These were less pleasing; many depicted dark shadows with wild eyes staring out, one held a self-portrait of Aldebaran, his face contorted into an awful scream, his jaw dropping unnaturally low; but the final one really caught her attention. It was the only one that was properly finished, the only one with any colour in it.

It was a wedding scene. Rigel was there, wearing the hideous red-net gown she had died in, there was a faint blush on her cheeks and her dark eyes danced with a kind of disgusted horror. Her groom was by her side, grasping her arm tightly with his taloned fingers. It was a man she hadn't seen in twenty years, and hoped would never seen again. Lydia's blood ran cold.

Betelgeuse.

--

"Who is this?" Lydia asked her vacant son, holding a loft the shabby sketch-pad. After the wedding, she'd found several other drawings of Betelgeuse; now, the page was open on the man in his customary black-and-white striped suit, a leering smile plastered over his pale face.

Aldebaran looked up slowly, and she thought for a moment that she saw a sparkle of life glimmer in his large, languid eyes. "It's _him_." He answered, as if she had asked him something obvious, like the date of his birthday, or the colour of the sky. "It's the guy that sent me ... away."

The breath caught in Lydia's throat, this was exactly what she wanted to know. Snapping the book closed, she sat beside her son, who flinched away from her a little – he had never liked human contact much, even before the 'incident' and now their brushing shoulders seemed to be discomforting for him. "How did he get in the house?"

Aldebaran shrugged his hunched shoulders. "I guess he must of come in with _her_." He mumbled his words, but the fact he was actually speaking to her proved that he _wanted_ this conversation, he wanted to speak about that fateful night – such a concept had never passed through Lydia's mind before now.

"Rigel?"

He nodded. "She'd been gone all day, I think she said something about it being Charles' birthday and wanting to see him." Aldebaran mostly called his relatives by their first names, like he didn't want to show any connection to them. The same had run for her until a few weeks ago, when he finally broke the taboo – he hadn't called her 'mom' since he was a little boy. "She came back late, I think it was dark – I wasn't paying attention. I didn't hear them come in, my music was on too loud." Aldebaran gripped his elbows through his baggy gray sweater. "Then he was in my room and he kind of jumped on me and we were rolling around and then there was pain ..... and my body was gone."

He paused in silent contemplation.

"Gone?" Lydia repeated, incredulous.

"Gone." He gave a sharp nod. "I was like smoke or something, I was just drifting above everything, like a cloud. Then I was like being pulled towards the door, I couldn't stop." He ran a nervous hand through his greasy hair; he was clearly agitated by the talk, but still he ploughed on. "I saw them in the Living room; there was this bright green light coming out of there." He pointed a bony finger at the fireplace. "And there was a little guy with a massive head and _she_ was there in a red dress, and _he _was there too. And then...."

He shuddered, drawing up his knees to his chest and bury his face into them. His shoulders tremored.

Lydia felt a lump forming in her throat; anticipation made her heart thud loudly in her ears. "And then... and then..."

"I felt her die."

The statement hung in the air a moment. Aldebaran still hid his face in his legs, wrapping himself up into a protective ball. Lydia felt the first tear roll down her pallid cheek; she brushed it quickly away, but another followed it. "What?"

"I felt her die." He lifted his head. This dark eyes were swimming with tears – he hadn't cried since he was four years old. "Her heart just stopped – for a moment a thought it was my own." He lowered his eyes, almost ashamed. "He didn't hurt her. She didn't even feel it. He didn't hurt her." He took a long shuddering breath. "And then...... it was like I was being sucked into a whirlpool, everything was spinning, I didn't know what was up and what was down; next thing I know, I'm waist deep in ice-cold marsh-water."

He released a heavy sigh; perhaps the weight of the truth was halved now it was shared.

Perhaps catching his mother's horrified expression, he added quickly, fearfully. "There was nothing I could do. I swear to God. I .... I would of saved her if I...." He broke of in silent sobs.

Surprised as she was, Lydia still managed to hold her son to her, for the first time since his infancy, and whisper comfort in his ear. "Shhhh... I know, there was nothing you could do Al....... you did your best....... shh now, love, shhh...."

For the first time, she felt the heat of his tears soak her light, white summer-blouse, as he repeated. "I'm sorry mom, I tried."


End file.
